


stuck with each other

by logologist



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I’ve never been struck by a power outage in the winter so bear with me :p, Nor have I ever been stuck in a blizzard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logologist/pseuds/logologist
Summary: Of course. It’s only natural that being nice would come back to bite Bellamy in the ass this royally.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77
Collections: Bellarke Secret Santa 2020, Bellarke smut





	stuck with each other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kindclaws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindclaws/gifts).



> I went with the prompt:
> 
> Rival Bellarke and they’re snowed in. Can be modern, can be canonverse, but whatever their history they’re not getting along at the beginning and then they are.
> 
> Merry Christmas to you all and especially to kindclaws! Hope you like it!

Of course. It’s only natural that being _nice_ would come back to bite Bellamy in the ass this royally.

“It’s fucking freezing,” Clarke huffs, hands almost useless in a set of his old gloves that are two sizes too big and keep slipping off of her hands. Never mind that _princess_ apparently needs to use one of her hands to keep her thin little pea coat clutched together at the collar, so she can only use the other one to carry one thing at a time from the powerless fridge to the garage.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Bellamy fires back, arms laden with packets of frozen food as he trudges ahead of her. “That’s kind of why we’re doing this.”

“As if it’s not gonna get cold in the kitchen either,” she replies. “The stuff would survive just fine in there.”

“Not taking that chance,” he says, dumping his load on top of the last one right at the garage door. He doesn’t dare touch the metal, sure he’d freeze to it right through his gloves. On the upside: it’s about as cold in the garage as it should be in a freezer, so the food will last in here until the storm blows over.

When they’re done emptying fridge and freezer, piling the fridge items in the back of his truck instead of at the garage door, Clarke is shivering, her lips turned blue, nose bright red. Bellamy shakes his head at the sorry image of her, standing in the middle of the near empty house, shaking. Like she expects someone to come take care of her.

“Come on, we gotta get you warmed up,” he says, gently nudging her toward the couch. She gingerly sits down on the cold leather. “I’m gonna see what I can find in the way of blankets.”

He returns a couple of minutes later with two duvets – stolen from Miller’s and Atom’s rooms – and a throw blanket from the upstairs hall closet, plus a fluffy pillow and two pairs of his own knit socks that his mom made him when he was ten. They’ve been too small for him for much longer than he could ever wear them, but he’s never managed to get rid of them.

Clarke lets him lay her down sideways and pile the pillow under and covers on top of her, but bristles when he touches her shoes.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Cold feet are gonna keep the rest of you cold,” he replies matter-of-factly and pulls her shoes and disgustingly thin, pink socks off her feet. No surprise, they’re bona fide icicles.

If anyone had told him yesterday that he would be rubbing Clarke Griffin’s feet, he’d have declared them clinically insane. And then had a good laugh about it.

As it stands, he settles on the cushion beside her and does his best to rub some warmth into her feet, pausing every so often to blow whatever warm breath he has left onto his hands. It takes a while, but when her feet finally go from frozen solid to merely clammy, he takes the win and wraps them in both pairs of socks, then tucks them tightly under the covers. Probably not for the first time today, his eyes pass the fireplace; for some reason, it took near an hour to click into place.

“Sit tight, princess,” he tells her. “I have an idea.”

Taking her grunt as an acknowledgment, he drags one of his buckets of wood scraps up to the living room. His own PoliSci notes from last semester actually make good kindling – he doesn’t even know why he kept the stuff, but now he’s glad that he has something to sacrifice. And within a good ten minutes, a little fire is burning in the fireplace. His only hope now is that the chimney is actually functional. If it isn’t… well, they’ll probably die of suffocation rather than freeze to death. At least it’ll be quicker.

Struck by the moment, he kneels by her head and tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cool skin for a second. “You’ll be alright now.”

Her face twists in a scowl. “Just leave me the fuck alone,” she near whispers.

He snorts. “Fine. Have it your way. Just so you know, I don’t exactly cherish your presence either, _princess_. I’ll be right over there, enjoying _my_ fire.” He points to the armchair. “If you can’t even look at me, then you’re free to close your eyes or go somewhere else. But honestly, you’d probably freeze to death if you do that, so… I guess you just have to suck it up.”

Who the fuck does she think she is? Without his help, she’d probably have gotten stuck in her stupid, tiny car in the grocery store parking lot. If he hadn’t just built a fire, she’d probably actually freeze to death in here. But has she shown him even one ounce of gratitude for any of it? Fat chance in hell, apparently.

* * *

“She’s cute,” Miller says, voice low, nudging Bellamy in the side. Not that he needs the prompt, because his eyes have been glued to the pretty, curvy blonde since he saw her walking into the auditorium. Psych 101 is a most popular class among especially female freshmen – fresh _women_? he wonders –, which is really the primary reason he picked it for his final semester. Well, that, and he knows the professor is pretty laid back about grades, and Bellamy could do with a nice little booster for his GPA.

Now said blonde is standing up, waxing some sort of buzzword BS that clearly has the prof enraptured with her wits and grasp of the concepts. Bellamy isn’t listening, really; rather he watches the little movements of her body as she gets more into it.

He imagines his hands on her waist, sliding up to cup her generous breasts, when his hearing catches up to what she’s saying, and a snort slips out. She freezes mid-sentence and snaps her eyes to him, same as probably every other student and the prof at this point.

“Mr… Blake, correct?” the prof asks. “I think Ms. Griffin made an excellent point, but apparently you have something you would like to share?”

“Only that she’s apparently memorized the textbook and is now playing buzzword bingo with you,” he says. “Classic psychology – appear exceedingly smart and on topic in your first class, and you can coast on that for the rest of the term.”

The room is silent for a moment before the prof tries to redirect attention back to the class' subject, but Bellamy pays no more attention to him. His eyes are glued to Ms. Griffin, whose face is about as red as a tasty tomato – and if looks could kill, Bellamy is pretty sure he’d need CPR.

It becomes somewhat of a game to him then. Ms. Griffin – Clarke, he learns soon, after careful intelligence gathering – picks up the gauntlet he threw down, apparently trying to prove that she’s actually on top of the subject matter in every class. Which Bellamy responds to by reading ahead in the textbook and then researching opposite viewpoints that he can then fire at her. It’s work, but seeing her fuming in nearly every class brings a strange sense of satisfaction to him.

* * *

Up in his room, Bellamy grabs his duvet and pillow, then picks up his current ‘reading for pleasure’ book before he trudges back down to the living room and only source of heat for the moment.

He only comes back out from his book a good six chapters later, when the temperature in the room has notably dropped again. One glance at the fire – not quite down to embers, but only one little burning piece of wood left – has him hauling his ass out of his armchair and carefully piling more wood onto it. As he works, his stomach rumbles, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. His watch tells him it’s already five pm, so his hunger is actually quite reasonable.

With a huff, he gets up. “Hey, Clarke, are you sleeping?”

“What do you want?” she grumbles back, not opening her eyes.

“Geez. I was just going to ask if you’re hungry, but if that’s your attitude… go make your own food.”

He makes sure to wear gloves when he touches the now ice cold silverware. He assembles himself a couple of sandwiches, making only one brief trip into the garage to grab some cheese and turkey. Clarke was right, he grudgingly admits – the kitchen is probably cold enough to count as a fridge by now. Leaving the food and utensils out on the counter, he returns to his armchair with his food. He finds Clarke sitting up, still huddled in multiple blankets. She’s not shivering anymore, and her nose has returned to a somewhat more healthy looking pink – and she eyes him hungrily. Or maybe just his sandwiches.

“Everything’s in the kitchen,” he says. “Help yourself.”

She nods. It’s the first positive sign of some sort of acknowledgment that she’s given him since accepting his offer for a ride. Okay, first _not outwardly negative_ sign. He follows her with his eyes as she shuffles over and out of sight, and comes back a few minutes later with a sandwich of her own. They eat in relative silence, Bellamy’s eyes glancing over at her every so often. She still keeps the throw blanket tucked tightly around herself, held closed from the inside with her left hand, while her right has snuck out to hold her sandwich. With her face illuminated by the flickering fire, he’s struck again by how pretty she is.

“Why do you hate me?” he asks eventually, after they’ve both finished their food.

Clarke snorts. “Me? Really?”

“What?”

“Oh. My. God. That’s so rich.”

“Seriously. Why?”

“You essentially called me a manipulative bitch in front of the entire psych classroom.”

Now it’s his turn to chuckle. “Come on, that was just a joke. Not my fault you didn’t have a good comeback.”

Clarke’s whole face flushes red. “MY FAULT?!” Her nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath. “You have the _audacity_ to blame this on ME? Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Well, if I was so wrong, and you actually were on top of the subject, then why didn’t you say anything?” he counters. “Probably because you actually weren’t, and I wasn’t wrong. I was dead right.”

He can see her jaw tick. “Fuck. You.”

Now he smirks. “Sure. Actually, sharing body heat is an excellent way to stay warm even without a fire. You wanna do it right here on the couch, or…?”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD!” Clarke screams. She actually stands up, grabs the pillow and one of the duvets on top of her blanket, and stomps up the stairs.

“Fine!” he yells after her. “Be like that. You can come back down here and share the fire if you acknowledge that I was right.”

“FUCK! YOU!” comes back from upstairs.

* * *

Bellamy tucks back into his book for another couple of hours. By the time he comes up again, he actually has forgotten that Clarke is around. There’s no sound coming from upstairs, and the fire is starting to wind down again. One glance out the window – or rather _at_ it – pretty much confirms that the house is nearly completely packed with snow. The window is fully whited out, which means that the snow is either coming straight at the window, or it’s piled so high that it covers the window fully. Neither is a great state. He walks around the downstairs rooms, confirming the same sight through every window, which supports the second theory.

Eyeing the fire, he weighs his options. Sleep down here, or up in his bed? Feed the fire, or let it burn itself out?

One look at the couch, and the still present indentations of Clarke’s extended stay remind him that he is, in fact, not alone, and that the couch probably smells of her, which would keep him from sleeping in one way or another. The fire is a different issue, but a careful check leaves him confident that it will indeed just burn out, so he grabs his blanket, pillow, and book and makes the journey back up to his room.

In retrospect, he should have suspected something before opening his door. For one, there’s the fact that he didn’t actually close his door when he grabbed his stuff earlier. For another, the door to Atom’s room at the other end of the hall is wide open, giving him a clear view of a bare bed stripped of its blankets and pillows. So why he didn’t think something might’ve been up…

As it stands, he simply grabs the door knob and half shoulders the door open, fully intent on dumping his stuff on the bed before going to find an unfrozen bottle of water to use to brush his teeth.

Only his bed is occupied.

Bellamy is frozen in place, and not from the cold. She’s mostly covered by blankets, but he can still tell that her arm and hand are jerking around underneath, following a circular pattern. Her left hand is out, clamped tightly over her mouth, but a quiet whimper here and there still sneaks out. Her clothes are strewn around the bed, and he’s definitely spotting panties and a bra, among a cami, sweater, and jeans, so she’s most likely naked. In his bed. Masturbating.

For a long, eternal second, he just watches. Her neck is stretched taut, back of her head burrowing into the borrowed pillow. A pretty, pink flush completely covers her neck and even crawls up her face. And each and every one of her little noises goes straight to his cock, which is hardening under his loose fleece pants.

Then he clears his throat, and her eyes snap open wide, locking on him. He just begins to open his mouth when her eyes roll back and she starts to shake, hard. He keeps watching, mouth half open, mesmerized, as Clarke goes through one clearly powerful orgasm, grunts of pleasure muffled by her own hand.

“Clarke?” he asks, quietly, when she’s stilled. “What…?”

She blinks once, twice. Then her eyes near instantly go from fully blown pupils to bright blue, and she jumps, sits up, completely forgetting her state. The blanket slips down from her shoulders, exposing her chest to him for a solid few seconds before she manages to yank it back up to cover herself. Too late, though, since the sight of her massive breasts is now burned into his memory for… well, probably forever.

“Bellamy! What the fuck?!”

“Uhm… this is my room,” he says.

Clarke is silent, just staring at him.

“So… have you changed your mind? I’d be happy to let you stay here, share body heat and all that, you know?”

“Oh my God, you’re such a fucking asshole!” She gets up, holding the blanket closed around herself as she stoops and tries to collect her clothes with her other hand. “No, thank you.”

Bellamy shrugs and exchanges his own covers for her borrowed ones, dumping them in the hall before he goes in search of water.

* * *

When he wakes up, he’s irritated at the frigid air as he untangles one arm from his covers to reach for his phone. When it doesn’t switch on, despite being plugged in, everything comes back to him. _Fuck_. Still no power, which means still no heat. Shit. At least his nose didn’t freeze off in his sleep – or did it? It’s not like he can feel it that well under normal circumstances. Grumbling, he rolls out of bed and pads on socked feet – small mercy – into the bathroom to check in the mirror. He sighs, seeing that his nose is just a little red, but not blue or even black.

Now that he’s out of bed, though, and not worried about frost burn, his body clocks down a little and lets him know just _how_ cold the house is, especially since he’s just wearing a t-shirt on top. Shivering, he goes to find some more layers, then decides to check on Clarke – just to make sure she didn’t die over night.

She doesn’t respond to his knock on her door, nor when he kneels down next to the bed and gently says her name. Her head is clearly visible among the pile of blankets, blonde hair going everywhere, including her face. He tucks it back a little, just enough to see her breathe, and checks by sight that her nose, too, is only a little red and showing no signs of freezing. Then, before she can wake up and launch herself into yet another tirade about how he’s apparently creepy, he leaves to get the fire going again and get himself some food.

She joins him downstairs when the fire has been going for a while, and Bellamy has buried himself back in his book. Truthfully, he doesn’t even notice her until she speaks, which makes him jump.

“Bellamy.”

“Ah! Jesus, Clarke.”

She’s munching on some near frozen bread. “What’s it look like?”

He makes a show of looking at the windows. “White.” The hell does she expect?

“Well, any idea how high it’s going?”

“I’m not jumping out a second floor window into six feet of snow,” he replies.

“I wanna know if the storm is still going. If it isn’t…”

“Then you wanna shovel a ton of snow… what, onto the road, princess? I’m afraid we’re gonna have to hope for some thawing. And that somebody fixes the power.”

“I don’t know,” she snaps, throwing her bread back on her plate. “I’m just fucking tired of being stuck here and not knowing shit.”

The house has an attic, but he really doesn’t wanna encourage her to go poking around and break her neck because the ladder is rotten or something. Nobody’s been up there since he moved in after all. “I guess you have no other choice. But please don’t yammer at me, okay?”

She’s glaring daggers at him, but thankfully doesn’t say anything, so he sticks his nose back into his book and ignores her for the next few hours.

When he sticks some more wood on the fire – the supply is starting to thin, so it probably won’t last another day, which is gonna be a whole new problem – Clarke seems to be asleep on the couch. When he’s done and the fire is crackling again, she’s sitting up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. It’s ridiculous how she can go from a pain in the ass to cute and innocent just by… being. Being quiet helps too, though.

“Bellamy?”

He sighs mentally. So much for quiet. “Yeah?”

“Can we talk?”

“About?”

“Us. You. Me.”

“Princess, there is no ‘us.’” He frowns. The hell is up with her?

She rolls her eyes. “Not an ‘us’ us, I know that. Us as in two people. Relatively intelligent people, I think.”

“Go on.”

“I mean, you’re clearly smart. You know shit, and… honestly, without you, I would probably at this point be frozen solid in my car, stuck in a snowbank.”

“You probably would.”

“What I’m trying to get to here is…” She takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “Why the hell are we like this? Why is everything I say an insult to you?”

He shrugs. So she wants to make nice? “Maybe it’s because you say everything in such an insulting tone when you speak to me?”

“I’m not–” She closes her eyes. “Okay. Maybe.” Sighs. “Maybe I do, because you fucking infuriate me.”

This should be entertaining. “I do? How so?”

“By treating me like I’m a stupid little girl? For starters?”

“Is that a question, princess?”

“There! Like that!” She scowls at him. “And no, it’s not. Obviously.” After a moment’s pause, she adds, “Why are you like that?”

“Maybe I’m just having fun riling you up.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “You respond so well to it. It works.” The response just earns him a head shake. “What?”

“You’re a grown ass man, Bellamy, and you act like you’re three. Do you have a crush on me or something, is that it? Have you never learned how to maturely communicate your feelings to people?”

“Look who’s treating whom like a little kid now.”

“God damn, stop treating this like a fight! I’m not, for the record. I’m making an observation, namely that your ‘riling me up for fun’ is very close to behavior exhibited by three year old children.”

Huh. Didn’t expect her to not rise to the bait and storm off. “Maybe you’re not far from the truth. But that doesn’t make it not fun.” He grins. “Besides, the way you’re always reacting to it, all insulted, you’re no better. Isn’t the ‘mature’ way to deal with immature people to ignore them?”

Clarke just stares at him. “You… why? Why are you like that?”

“Ever considered that I maybe don’t want you to psychoanalyze me, princess?”

“Ever considered that I maybe don’t want you to call me that?”

“But it fits.”

“How?”

“Well, you always act all high and mighty, for one.” He shrugs. “And you’re pretty damn hot, too.”

“I don’t act–” She blinks. “What?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Bellamy grins when he notices a slight blush creep up her cheeks. “Anyway. Why would you even care?”

“For one, because I’m fucking stuck here with you for who knows how long. For another, because it makes no goddamned sense that we’d be fighting all the time. To be honest, I’m tired of that, too.”

“Well, I’m gonna graduate next semester, so then you’ll be rid of me.”

She doesn’t seem to have a comeback for that, so he, satisfied with himself, burrows back into his chair and blankets and attempts to finish his book.

He hasn’t made it five more pages in before she speaks again. He almost doesn’t hear her words, his brain catching up with them when he reads the same sentence three times and gets stuck because he’s still processing them. “You’re pretty damn hot, too.”

He digs his nose out of the book and looks at her, still wrapped up in blankets. The flush on her cheeks is most certainly not only from the cold or the fire, though.

“Well, thanks, princess.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Sorry.” He sighs. “Look, it’s not easy to turn off… learned behavioral patterns.”

“Don’t fucking use psych for an excuse you dumbass.”

“Yet you know exactly that that’s how it works. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t flip my behavior around and not slip up ever.”

“That’s… fuck, that’s actually true. But you can at least try.”

“I could.”

She looks him dead in the eye. “You _can_. And you _will_.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Psych.”

“Come again?”

“You think I’m hot. I think you’re hot. We’re stuck in a house all by ourselves with a shrinking supply of firewood for heat. Seems logical to me that we–” She gives him a saucy grin– “should make our own heat, don’t you think?”

“If this is your attempt at seduction, Clarke, you have pretty poor game.” The words slip out before he can even consciously feel them forming in his head. The actual _fuck_ is he doing? Clarke _fucking_ Griffin, the hottest girl he’s met all year, maybe at all, is coming on to him, and he’s slamming her down harder than his sister hits her volleyballs. “Uh, I mean…” he scrambles, but Clarke’s expression shifting into rage cuts him off.

“Oh yeah?! Well, then, I guess you’ll just have to fuck yourself, Bellamy.” She stands, keeping the blankets around herself. “Asshole,” she adds, and stomps up the stairs for good measure.

He doesn’t go back to his book, leaving it open on his knees. What the actual fuck is wrong with him? As if he hasn’t dreamed of fucking her all semester. Actually, he’s masturbated to that thought, or her in general, an embarrassing amount of times so far. Usually right after class, because usually their “debates” get him nice and worked up. This time, though, his dick is about as limp as it can be, and he feels just like shit.

So why didn’t he take her up on it?

After a little eternity of mulling, he climbs out of his chair and makes for the stairs, huffing as the air gets cooler the further away from the fire he gets. On the first floor, he makes a right and heads straight for Clarke’s – Atom’s – room. His mind is so focused on laying out what he’s gonna say that he doesn’t even consider that maybe he should knock, given what happened yesterday, so he just barrels straight in.

In a mirror image of yesterday, Clarke is lying on the bed, though this time, her nakedness is obvious by the simple fact that she’s not covered at all, except for the colorful wool socks on her feet. The blankets are in a heap at the foot of the bed, mussed as if she kicked them off of her. A glistening sheen and a rosy flush cover most of her usually pale skin, and the fingers of both of her hands are busy in her crotch, right pistoning in and out of her cunt, left rubbing side to side over her clit. Her eyes are closed, neck strained, teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she arches her back.

“Mmmmhmmm. Uhmmm. Mmmmmmhmm. MMM! MMMMM!” Her stifled moans gain pitch, though Bellamy remains frozen in the door, watching. Again. The spell only breaks when she finally cums and her mouth falls open, releasing a single, higher pitched scream as her whole body shakes. “AAAAHHHHH!”

“Clarke?”

She opens her eyes, not even bothering to grab a sheet or anything to cover herself. “You don’t know how to knock, do you?” Then she grabs her tits – her massive, magnificent tits – and pushes them together. “This is what you turned down, Bellamy. Now get the fuck out.”

He takes a deep breath. “No.” As an afterthought, he closes his eyes. His dick hardened at the sight of her, and he almost just wants to do something really stupid, but he does have something to say.

“No?” she echoes. By the lack of sound, though, she doesn’t do anything to cover herself. His traitorous mind suggests that she should be freezing any second now, and he should go and keep her arm.

“I’ve been thinking, Clarke.” He weighs the words carefully. “And you’re right, I’ve been an asshole. I have no excuse for that. What I do have are explanations, but you’re also right that those are not excuses.” He waits a moment, focusing on his breathing, but she doesn’t comment. His eyelids twitch. He wants to look, but… he’s already seen more than he should’ve. It wouldn’t be right. “I don’t know how to say this without it sounding hurtful and bad, but it’s only an explanation. Downstairs… I thought you were joking. I wasn’t ready to trust you. I just came up here to say that I was an idiot, and then leave you be.”

“But?” she asks after a moment.

“But what?”

She sighs. “Bellamy, I can hear the but at the end of that statement.”

“But, after what you just said and showed me, I am now ready to trust that you were serious. I understand if I… missed my shot, so to speak. Ball’s in your court, Clarke.”

Now there’s shuffling. “Bellamy… frankly, arguing with you turns me on. It’s absolutely stupid, but it does. I have to change my fucking panties after every psych class. Because you. Make. Me. Fucking. Hot.” He can hear her pull on the blankets. “And it frustrates the hell out of me because on the one hand, I want to jump your fucking bones, but on the other, I don’t know that I could stand being around you for more than two minutes if all we did was fight.”

That’s it. His mouth opens without his prompting, ready to slam her down again, he’s sure – but this time he catches himself before it can happen, snapping it shut so hard his teeth hurt. He doesn’t care. He’s not gonna let his stupid auto-speaking mouth ruin what is very likely his extra shot after he already messed up the last one he should’ve had. “The truth, Clarke, is that arguing with you gets me hot, too. I usually lock myself in a bathroom stall right after and jack off so I can drive without being too distracted. But even I know that that’s no basis for a relationship. So… well, I haven’t had any idea how to go from there, so I guess I’ve just been doing the same thing. Rile you up, work myself up, and take care of it then.”

Her sigh is loud and clear. “You can open your eyes,” she says. He does, finding her wrapped in her borrowed blankets. “I got cold,” she explains. “Though it was kinda funny seeing you try to be all chivalrous. And… nice. Don’t get me wrong. That counts for something.”

“Counts for what?”

“A mark in the pro column.”

“Pro what?”

“Pro giving this a shot.” She locks eyes with him. “Bellamy, I want this. You and me. I think we could be really great, if we can keep this up. What we just did. I mean… You want me, I want you. We both have enough insight into our stupid minds to be able to figure out when we’re being stupid. Even if it takes a little while. So… what do you think?”

Yes. Outwardly, his lips quirk into a grin. “I don’t know. We’d have to keep arguing, considering that’s what gets us both going.”

“Of course we would. But there’d be two benefits.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. One, we’d know that we’re not actually trying to be mean to each other. Afterwards, at least.”

“And what’s the other?”

“We wouldn’t have to get off by ourselves after. We could just… find someplace private and fuck all that energy out.”

Bellamy finds himself nodding. “That sounds like a mutually beneficial plan.”

“Yes, I thought so.”

A thought shoots through his head, and before he can stop himself, he closes the distance to the bed, looming over her.

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Are we gonna do it in your roommate’s be-AH!”

He cuts off her question by scooping her up bridal style, leaving it up to her to keep some of the blankets around herself. She giggles into his neck as he carries her downstairs, where he kicks his own blanket off the armchair and spreads it a little right in front of the fireplace, then lowers her onto it.

“Mmmhmmm,” Clarke sighs, tossing the blankets off of herself. “Warmmmmm.”

Bellamy laughs, still kneeling above her, with one hand on her knee. He slowly crawls over her, until his face is level with hers. Their eyes search each other’s for a few moments before she lifts her head up and he lowers his, letting their lips meet in the middle. They’re a little cold and a lot chapped, he finds, wondering absently if he maybe has some lip balm somewhere and whether that might have frozen and become useless. Nonetheless, the kiss sparks something in him, especially when she parts her lips and her decidedly warm tongue comes sneaking out and asking for permission to enter his mouth. Which he’s only too eager to grant.

“Good start,” she huffs when they finally part, his hand still cradling the back of her hand. Her lips are slightly swollen now, and curled up into a smile.

He grins back. “Get ready for more.” He starts kissing down her cheek and neck, leaving a wet trail as he goes. When he reaches her chest, he cups her heavy breasts in his hands, pushing them together while he lavishes licks and kisses all over her nipples – already hard despite the heat of the fire – and the sensitive undersides of her breasts. Clarke sighs above him, running her hands through his hair – though she lets him withdraw when he mouths a trail down her stomach, stopping briefly to lick at her belly button, before he settles in to suck a little harder at the junction of her thigh and hip.

“Ah!” she gasps. “Bellamy!”

“Yes?” he mumbles against her skin, gently raking his teeth over the sensitive spot.

“Mmmhmm… fuck.”

“As you wish.” He actually disengages fully for a second to grab his pillow from the chair. “Ass up for a sec, please.” When she complies, he wedges the pillow under her hips, then settles back onto his stomach and elbows in front of her. Like this, her flushed, pretty cunt is all lined up with his mouth. “Grab your tits for me, princess.”

Clarke groans, but moves her hands to cup her breasts and rub her nipples with her thumbs.

“Good girl,” he says. Clarke’s pussy actually visibly pulses at the words – a glob of white-ish goo slides out of her slightly gaping hole. He barely catches a pool of drool before it can escape his mouth. “You look fucking delectable, you know?”

“Mhm,” is all she gives him.

“All this time, you were so hot for me,” he whispers as he leans in. Her scent hits him, hard, clouds all his senses. Her cunt radiates a heat that rivals the fireplace. Bellamy shifts a little, so he can slide her thighs onto his shoulders and grab onto them with his hands.

Her taste is somewhat musky, not salty or bitter or sweet. And strong. Bellamy dips his tongue straight into the source, catching that glob of goop on the tip, then flattens his tongue and drags it all along her slit until he can deposit what’s left of her juices on her clit. Clarke’s sharp intake of breath is encouraging, so he repeats the motion a few times before he settles his mouth over her clit. Within a few strokes of his tongue over her little nub, Clarke is already whimpering and moaning, and when he glances up, he can tell she’s squeezing her tits with all her strength. He can only imagine what it would be like to tie her down and tease her, edge her close over and over but never let her cum – but that’ll have to wait for another day. Right now, he’s getting too hard himself, fighting to keep his hips still instead of rutting against the blanket. So instead of furthering the teasing, he closes his lips around her clit and sucks hard, earning another whimper. He flicks the tip of his tongue back and forth over it, keeping it trapped between his lips, until Clarke arches her back hard and lets out a small scream, just before her hips start bucking against his face and he has to use his full strength to keep them pinned down.

“Aaaaahh! Fuuuuuuckkkkkkk!”

He keeps flicking at her clit all through her shuddering orgasm, until she weakly pushes against his head with her hands. With one last suck, he lets go and sits up, hands already reaching to strip off his sweater and t-shirt in one go.

“Ooooooh,” Clarke sighs.

“Better than doing it yourself?” he asks, working on his pants now.

“Eh, it’s a toss up,” she replies. “You gotta work on your oral.”

He narrows his eyes at her but catches her grin. “Oh yeah, _princess_?”

She visibly shudders. “Yeah. I mean, this was nice, but…”

“But what?”

“A little quick, don’t you think?”

He laughs loudly, crawling up her body, now fully naked. His cock is hard and heavy, bobbing in the air between them. Clarke actually gulps at the sight of it, and reaches down to wrap her hand around the base. She pulls it down to rest it on her stomach.

“So big…” she whispers. Looking up at him, she bites her bottom lip. “Will it fit in my little pussy?”

“Oh, it will,” he replies.

He hitches her leg up with one arm and she guides him back and lower until the tip rests against her vagina.

“Condom?” he asks.

She sucks in a breath. “Are you clean?”

He nods.

“Me too, and I’m on birth control.” Her eyes search his for a second. She doesn’t say it, but he can tell she wants it bare just as much as he does.

“Okay.”

With one thrust, he slides the head of his cock inside of her.

Clarke gasps, and Bellamy stills – partly because he doesn’t want to hurt her, partly because her pussy is so _fucking_ tight around him that he doesn’t even know if her _could_ go further. So he revels in the heat and smooth tightness instead. He thought that her comment on his size was a little act, stroking his ego, but maybe it really _is_ much bigger than anything she’s had before.

After a minute, she looks up at him and gives him a small nod, prompting him to push on. She sucks in a sharp breath, but he keeps going, pushing slowly until he’s settled all the way inside of her.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel amazing, Clarke.”

She whimpers under him. “You… so big…”

“Yeah?” He leans down to nip at her earlobe. “Biggest one you’ve ever had?”

“Fuck… yeah,” she replies.

He waits another long beat, then slowly withdraws his length until only the tip remains inside. Clarke lets out a long moan as he goes, and screams a little when he plunges it all back inside of her. It goes a little easier this time, and a little more each time after until he feels it’s safe to pick up a faster speed. Clarke moans and squeaks almost constantly.

Bellamy’s orgasm hits him out of nowhere. One second he’s thrusting away, eyes feasting on Clarke’s tits, her blissed out expression; the next, he feels a tingle in the tip of his cock, a surge in his balls, and then he can only manage another few shaky times before he groans and spills his cum into Clarke’s hot, wet cunt.

Clarke sighs, relaxing as he fights to not collapse straight on top of her.

“You came in me,” she says, voice airy, like she’s not quite there.

“I did.”

“I like it.” She smiles, cracks an eye open. “A lot.”

He grins back. “Me too”.

Her cunt flutters around him. “Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you… get me off again?”

He smiles and nods. “Sure, princess.” He rolls off of her, landing on his side, and reaches down between her legs. His lips press softly against hers as his middle finger locates her clit. Clarke jolts and gasps into his mouth, her hips bucking up against his hand already. He doesn’t play around this time, just rubs little circles on her clit until Clarke arches her back again, her cries of pleasure muffled by his lips.

* * *

“This has been a… well, interesting few days,” Clarke says as Bellamy pulls into the parking lot of the grocery store.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Best and worst days of my life.”

He snorts. “What now?”

“Now, I’ll be going home. Sleep some, catch up on homework. Gotta prepare for our next argument.”

“Oh, we’ll be having one?”

“Don’t you fucking dare go all soft on me now, Bellamy. I need those arguments.”

“Just kidding.” He shifts a little in his seat, glancing between her and the parking lot. “So… would you like to go out with me tomorrow?”

Clarke looks at him for a long moment; then her face twitches, and soon she’s laughing loudly. Bellamy’s a little confused, because she’s also clutching his thigh.

“Sorry,” she manages, clearly fighting to pull herself together. “That… I just thought that was kind of obvious. Sorry.” She takes a deep breath. “Yes. I would love to go out with you. Provided we can find a place.”

“I still got a garage full of food,” he replies. “And my roommates won’t be back for another couple of days… we could just have a nice walk in the snow and then I could cook for you.”

She smiles brightly. “That sounds lovely, actually. Yes. Let’s do that. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow it is, princess.”

She’s still smiling, and leans across the console to plant a soft, sweet kiss on his lips. “Can’t wait,” she tells him as she gets out.

“Me too,” he whispers, after she’s closed the door. He watches her trudge through the half melted, half cleared snow in the parking lot and get into her little Volkswagen. A minute later, it starts, and she makes a point of driving by in front of him, waving. He grins stupidly as he waves back, already running through ideas of what he’s gonna make her tomorrow.


End file.
